Young Master
by prettypurple
Summary: Igor doesn't get along well with his master, and if told that he's bad at anything, he'd take it as a compliment. But Igor does care for Duckula, and sometimes even envies him...not that he'd admit it.


_Count Duckula belongs to Cosgrove Hall._

* * *

**_Welcome, dear reader, to Transylvania, a land where danger lurks around every corner. Even now, on this desolate road, something sinister approaches..._**

Igor's car was only a car in a manner of speaking; it looked more like a house on wheels. Igor never used the thing if he could help it, but tonight the young master had wanted to see the performance of "Les Miserables" at the playhouse, and the butler couldn't complain. At least "Les Miz" wasn't the bouncy, happy sort of musical; Igor had taken his master's desire to see it as a sign that there was still hope for him to embrace the darker things in life. It was too bad that Count Duckula and his servants had been kicked out of the theatre, and it was all because of...

"Nanny," Duckula groaned as he got into the passenger seat, "I keep telling you, it was only a play! That little boy didn't really die, and neither did any of the others. They're just actors!"

"It's so sad!" Nanny wailed for what must have been the fiftieth time. She hadn't shut up ever since the first song, complaining about the bad language and whether the content was suitable for her "little Duckyboos". It had taken all of Duckula's and Igor's combined strength to keep the large hen from going into the stage to stop "Valjean" and "Javert" from fighting at "Fantine"'s deathbed.

Duckula rolled his eyes. "I know, Nanny, but I still would've liked to have seen the whole thing."

Igor said nothing. He was angry about them having to leave before Monsieur Thenardier's solo in the sewers. Duckula and Nanny quickly stopped arguing and went to sleep. Igor hoped that Nanny would wake up by the time they were back home, because there was no way in...Hades...that he was going to carry both of them into the castle. Stupid hen. Why had the master kept her around for so many centuries? It wasn't as if a vampire needed a nanny.

By the time the car was approaching the village, Igor was so distracted by his frustration with Nanny that he almost didn't see the other car heading right for them! Igor cried out and swerved, only barely avoiding the other car. Duckula and Nanny screamed in shock at their rude awakening.

"Watch where you're going, idiot!" the other car's driver yelled, obviously not realizing to whom he was addressing.

"Oh dear," Nanny panted, "my poor heart's bouncing up and down!"

"It's alright, Nanny," Duckula said soothingly. To his butler, he snapped, "Igor, you are a very bad driver!"

"Thank you, milord."

Duckula shook his head in exasperation. "No, Igor, that's not what I meant! We might have been killed, not that you'd care."

"Milord!"

"Duckyboos, you mustn't talk like that!" Nanny chided.

Duckula ignored her; this was something that he'd wanted to get off his chest for a long time.

"Come on, Igor, just admit it: you wouldn't mind if I died right here, right now. You'd be able to bring me back as the vampire you want me to be. No!" he added as Igor opened his mouth. "Not a word! I'm going back to sleep."

Igor was deeply wounded, but didn't let it show. He would never wish death on any of the Duckulas, not even this one. That was why he kept trying to make his master a proper vampire in his current life.

* * *

Just as Igor had feared, Nanny had also fallen back to sleep by the time they returned to Castle Duckula. Luckily, all he needed to do to wake her was knock on the car door.

"I'll get it!" Nanny cried out automatically. She turned her head and saw that Duckula was still sleeping. "Oh, bless him!"

Igor shuddered.

"Pardon my French, Mr. Igor."

Considering what they had seen earlier tonight, Igor might have found this a somewhat witty remark if Nanny were smarter.

The young master cried out in his sleep as Nanny picked him up in her good arm.

"Shh, Duckyboos, it's only Nanny."

Duckula quieted a little, not even waking when Nanny walked right through the door. Igor was relieved that he didn't have to read any fairy tales to his master tonight; the young master never wanted to hear the better, darker original versions of those stories.

* * *

The butler wasn't much for sleeping. Back in the "good old days", he'd loyally guarded his master's coffin by day and aided in terrorizing the peasants by night, which left little time for sleep. When Igor did sleep, he was usually tormented by nightmares of sickeningly cute, fuzzy bunnies. Tonight, he passed time by polishing his instruments of torture, ensuring that they did not go rusty from their woeful lack of use. Igor also dusted the equally disused coffin, and felt a pang of nostalgia.

He was on his way to the picture gallery when he passed the master's bedroom and heard him murmuring and whimpering in his sleep.

"No," Duckula half-sobbed as he tossed and turned. "Leave me alone! I told you I'm not-no! NO!"

Igor looked into the bedroom and saw the problem: the master's teddy bear had fallen off the bed again. Duckula couldn't sleep peacefully without it, and even though Igor disapproved of that shabby stuffed bear, the young master's latest nightmare seemed especially distressing for him...

With stealth that had been perfected by centuries of practice, Igor tiptoed into the bedroom and picked up the teddy. Duckula sighed softly as Igor put it back into his arms.

In his rush to leave, Igor bumped into Nanny. As big and clumsy as Nanny was, she could approach very quietly on rare occasions.

"That was very nice of you, Mr. Igor."

Drat, she'd seen the whole thing! "Forget you saw that, Nanny," Igor ordered.

"Forget what?"

"Precisely."

As Nanny returned to her room, Igor furtively checked on hi master again. Count Duckula now lay quietly on his bed, seemingly more at ease. For a fleeting moment, Igor envied him.

_**Fear not, my dear reader, the mighty Count sleeps peacefully...for now. Goodnight out there, **_**whatever _you are!_**


End file.
